Before It's Too Late
by ImpulsiveWriter321
Summary: A collection of Sherolly oneshots that will probably grow and grow. Sherlock being cute, stupid and protective and Molly being adorable, determined, and the feisty pathologist we have come to know and love. Plenty of love to other characters as well.


**Hello everyone! I couldn't get this little oneshot out of my head. I don't know where it came from or how I got the idea in my head but once it got there I just couldn't** _ **not**_ **write it. The third chapter for** _ **The Experiment**_ **will also be out shortly so do not fret! I have not given up on that. Hope you enjoy!**

Molly rushed around her lab, accidentally knocking binders to the ground and running into a least three table corners as she tried to put together her paperwork for Dr. Milligan.

"I can't believe I fell asleep on the freaking _lab table_ ," Molly seethed, quickly trying to pull together her final lab reports on several autopsies that he was waiting for. He had emailed her the night before asking her to have them on his desk by 9 o'clock the next morning. She had stayed late, exhausted from working case after case with Sherlock and John and trying to complete her own work. She should have known that she would fall asleep if she sat her table for too long.

She glanced up at the clock and grimaced at the digital 8:30 as the eight flickered.

"I'm only missing a couple sheets," Molly sighed, running a hand through her hair that she had left hanging down her back. Absentmindedly, she remembered that she needed to get a haircut. She had thought she had placed them on her table the night before but they currently were escaping her sight. She quickly turned and made sure that her packet that she had so far was correct before diving down below the table to see if her missing pages had fallen under it. She didn't even hear the loud footsteps coming toward her lab.

The doors slammed as Sherlock and John walked in.

"Molly!" Sherlock's loud voice reached her ears. She jumped at the suddenness of it, the back of her head slamming against the bottom of the table causing it to tremble.

"Ow - shit!"

"Molly, are you alright?" John came around the table and reached down to help her up.

"Yeah," she muttered, rubbing her head.

"What were you doing under there?" Sherlock inquired, his sharp eyes searching hers. Their relationship had been...interesting since the whole Euros thing had blown over. She had been told the situation from Mycroft and John, about how Euros had tricked Sherlock and threatened that she had placed explosives in Molly's own apartment to get Sherlock to make the call. The only person that she hadn't heard any explanation from was Sherlock himself. They had come to a silent understanding, however, to practically not talk about it. But something had changed. Their silences were now filled with unspoken feeling and their glances were now searching instead of a blanked off gaze.

She blinked. He was still staring into her eyes while John looked awkwardly between them.

"Um…" he started.

"I was looking for some papers. For my lab reports."

"Where did you last see them?" John asked.

"I don't remember. I was here late last night and then I fell asleep on the table…" Molly shook her head as she turned away from them to look at her other tables in the lab.

"We'll help," John offered, with what Molly could only believe was a slight 'Do As I Say' glare toward Sherlock. "It's the least we can do since you've helped us so much this week. When do you need them?"

"Um...by 9. If I'm right then they should be a red-ish folder."

John quickly started looking on the other side of the lab while Sherlock came to stand next to her. A lot closer than usual.

"Why were you here so late?" He asked. Molly glanced up to his face, surprised to not find malice or discomfort at his own plans being disturbed. He seemed genuinely concerned as to why Molly was a disheveled mess.

"I needed to get these reports done. I didn't have a lot of time this week, as you well know."

"You also need sleep, Molly."

His sentence almost stopped her in his tracks. He wasn't like this. Sherlock Holmes was _never_ like this.

 _You're stressed, Molly._

 _I'm stressed. You're dying._

 _Stress can ruin everyday of your life. Dying can only ruin one._

She blinked at the sound of John rustling papers. "You needed help."

Sherlock grimaced.

"We could have done without you. Uh…" he scowled at his own words. "I didn't mean that. I just meant that the case could have _waited_ , you were perfectly allowed one night rest...I mean, you allowed much more than that - "

"Sherlock. It's okay. I wanted to help. Your cases are important. They usually involve people that are still alive. Mine...don't."

Sherlock gave her a sad look. "Your cases are still important, Molly. Just because they're lying on your table now doesn't mean they weren't someone before."

Molly stared at him, mouth agape. Sherlock's words were what practically got her through medical school and through her first year at Saint Bartholomew's. She constantly had to keep reminding herself that her work was important as she got the elderly, children, mothers, fathers, siblings, any and all on her table. Whenever she felt that all she was doing was looking at the dead for no reason than to harden her heart just a bit more she'd open their file which would include a photograph of when they were alive.

And her heart would smile. So she smiled.

"Thank you, Sherlock. Really."

She stared at him, waiting for him to say something. Anything really. Ever since that phone call... _their_ phone call...she wasn't exactly sure what was going to come out of his mouth. Especially after a conversation like the one they were having just now.

Sherlock looked away first. She quickly figured it wasn't because he didn't want to look at her anymore, though. His eyes narrowed and his mouth quirked.

"Is that your 'red-ish' folder?"

He pointed behind her, at a folder that was stuck in-between a pile of unfiled paperwork that she had slammed on a cart last weekend.

"Oh thank goodness!" Molly ran over and snatched the folder, careful not to disturb the other papers. "I have got to get this place organized."

She looked up at the clock. 8:55. "I'll be right back. And then I can help you both, alright?"

"Take your time, Molly. Really," John emphasized. Molly smiled at them as she stuck the missing papers into their correct spots as she pushed the lab doors open with her back. Within seconds, she was hurrying down the hallway towards Dr. Milligan's office.

"She's exhausted." John sighed. He turned to Sherlock who was still looking at Molly's cart of papers. "She needs to sleep."

"Agreed. But Mummy will throw a fit if she's not there," Sherlock groaned.

"I know. But then I'm not going to bug her with another case for a while. Look at all she has to do. Poor Molly hasn't had a moment to herself in - Sherlock, what are you doing?"

He had picked up a piece of paper that had been discarded on the cart. It was old, John could see, from the yellowing of the paper and the small tear near the bottom of the page. He could make out some scribbling and drawing on it.

"I had to do this," Sherlock scoffed, smiling a bit.

"Do what?" John stepped forward to try and see over Sherlock's shoulder. Sherlock handed him the paper.

"It was the one science experiment my idiot private school ever did. It was the most unnecessary thing."

John laughed. "Bottle rockets."

"Not a single student in my class could figure out how to successfully get one to fly."

John looked at him in shock. "Not even you?"

Sherlock raised an eyebrow. "At that age I wasn't bothered with what I considered unnecessary. It didn't matter to me."

"But you still couldn't get it to fly."

Sherlock stared hard at him for almost a full minute. John stared back, the two best friends both knowing that Sherlock's attitude didn't faze John's nature any more. Sherlock finally sighed.

"No, I couldn't. I was the closest though. I used three wings, a two liter bottle, and a carefully measured amount of water. That with the pressure should have been enough. But it wasn't."

"Sherlock Holmes not understanding something scientifical…" John shook his head, looking down at Molly's work.

"It looks like she did practically the same as I did. I wonder if she got her's to work."

John squinted to read Molly's writing. "Damn, Sherlock, she writes like you. Constantly writing and about things that I definitely don't understand. But from what I can see...she didn't use water…"

"It was Coca-Cola and Mentos."

Both Sherlock and John jumped at Molly's voice behind them.

"Jesus, Molly." John gasped, clutching his chest. She giggled.

"Sorry, John." She came up to them and gently took the paper from John's fingers. "Where did this old thing come from? I did this in primary school."

"So did Sherlock," John offered. He almost laughed at Sherlock's face barely giving off red tints on his cheeks.

"Did you get yours to fly? Mine didn't. Two wings, a two liter bottle, and Coca-Cola with Mentos."

Sherlock raised another eyebrow at her. "Did your school really let you use Coca-Cola with Mentos? Couldn't those have an...adverse effect?"

Molly grinned. "Everyone, including the teachers, was instructed to stay far away from the test site. We all went over individually to set out rockets up. With the distance we were away from the test site they couldn't see what liquid came out of the bottle. What they don't know won't hurt them."

Sherlock grinned with her. And then…

"And no. Mine didn't. Water, bottle, three wings."

Molly gave a puzzled face. "Three wings?"

Sherlock nodded.

John smiled, not wanting to interrupt that obviously comfortable scene between his best friend and favorite pathologist. But he and Sherlock had a job to do and unfortunately this one was a bit...impatient.

"Um….Sherlock? The reason we're here?"

"Oh, right." Sherlock sighed and reached into his pocket to pull out a folded piece of expensive looking parchment. "This is for you. You don't have to, _really_ you don't have to go - "

Molly snatched it out of his hand. "What's this?"

"Sherlock's parents have invited all of us to a dinner this weekend. So that they can meet all of Shirley's and Mikey's friends." John giggled as he put air quotations around his last sentence.

"Don't ever call me Shirley."

"Oh, I'll definitely be there," Molly responded, grinning at the paper.

"Great! I'll let her know."

"Since when do you have contact with my mother?" Sherlock groaned.

"Since she sent me all the invitations asking if I could deliver them all because she knew that you and Mycroft wouldn't. Well, we'll leave you to your work, Molly. See you this weekend?"

"Definitely." She waved as they waltzed out of her lab, Sherlock giving her one last glance before the double doors shut behind them.

She sighed. It wasn't that she didn't mind the current state of the relationship between herself and Sherlock. But it was _forced._ She wanted nothing more than to yell in his face and demand he tell her what he meant in the phone call. If it really was all just to keep her safe. But she wouldn't. She knew that. All she wanted at this point, after her rapid imagination had been checked, was to get them on normal speaking grounds again. No more strained conversations. No more emotion filled glances with no words to supplement them.

 _I'm not an experiment, Sherlock_

 _No, I know you're not an experiment….you're my friend._

Molly looked down at her bottle rocket drawing.

And the idea formed.

…..

Sherlock hurried into the field, in his eyes searching for any sight of Molly.

"Molly? Molly!" He called. It wasn't right, he thought. It wasn't like her to send cryptic messages late at night. It was like her to ask him to come to an abandoned field. Something had to have happened to her, that was the only logical explanation. She was his friend.

Even thinking the word made Sherlock's mouth dry. She wasn't a friend. No, not to him. He knew that now. He knew that the moment he smashed the coffin to smithereens. But those were words and thoughts that he would never have the pleasure of retrieving from his mind palace. Even if they sat at the front door, just waiting to spill out into the real world.

"Sherlock! Over here!"

His thoughts broken, he ran to where he heard her voice. It was dark, but there was a small light that was stationed out in the open.

How did he miss that?

He ran up to the light, surprised to find a pump on the ground with a long wire attached to it. A fold up table had been placed on the wobbly ground with supplies scattered across it. Molly was hard at work, her simple polka dot dress swaying just above her knees. It was short sleeved, with a bare back and a slight v-neck. Sherlock's words caught.

She turned around suddenly, the goggles on her face making her especially adorabl - _professional looking._ Sherlock stopped his brain as quickly as he could. He couldn't think like that. It was too dangerous to think like that.

"I didn't know if you were going to come or not."

"You left me a cryptic text message asking me to meet you out in an abandoned field at eleven o'clock at night. I thought something had happened to you, Molly."

"I'm just fine." She turned back toward the table.

"What is all this?" He walked up next to her. After seeing what supplies were on the table he had to clench his mouth shut to keep from laughing.

She lifted her experiment for him to see. "Three wings, two liter bottle, Coca-Cola and Mentos."

"A mixture of both of our bottle rockets," Sherlock breathed.

"I was curious and I just thought...maybe you'd like to see if it worked, too."

She shuffled her feet and looked down. Sherlock hated to see her unsure of herself, he always had. He raised his hand and gently lifted her chin with his finger.

"Of course."

She gave him a radiant smile...the one that made him weak-kneed and - _stop._

She went over to the pump and prepared the rocket. After she stood she snagged a second pair of goggles and, with a smile only a minx like Molly could have, placed them around Sherlock's head.

"There," she giggled.

"Are these really necessary?"

"I'm giving us the whole primary school experience."

With that, she led him over to the end of the wire which was jerry rigged with a plunger pump to send the bottle rocket off.

"Is this legal?" Sherlock asked as the crouched next to it.

"Do you care?" She asked, her bright eyes searing into his.

He smiled. "Not at all."

"Together?" She asked, placing her hands on one side of the plunger pump.

He nodded as he placed his hands on the other side. "Together."

"On the word 'go', okay? Three….two...one...go!"

As the pushed down the plunger pump, the bottle rocket skyrocketed into the air. It shot straight up then gave a gentle curve before it ran out of power and started declining down to the ground.

"It worked!" Molly laughed, standing up and running after it a little to see where it landed. Sherlock couldn't help but give a full grin...and his mind palace's front door opened.

She was beautiful. Her light brown hair swaying across the soft skin of her back and her dress billowing around her knees. Her goggles were now on her forehead and her eyes were bright with excitement. He followed her, lifting his goggles and standing next to her as they watched the last of the Coca-Cola fall to the ground. She turned and threw her slim arms around his neck.

He couldn't control it now. It was too strong to control. He didn't _want_ to control it anymore.

He loved her. He loved her smile. He loved her childlike excitement over things as simple as bottle rockets. He loved her passion. He loved her deep brown eyes. He held her tightly to him. He never wanted to let go. She was everything. Everything he had lost in his childhood after Victor. He had lost all emotional context. She was giving it back to him.

She pulled back a little, a giant smile on her face.

"So, I guess we can officially say that we both finished our science experiment."

"You're not an experiment," Sherlock whispered.

Molly's eyes searched his. He realized that she was the only one that did that. Literally _searched_ and _looked_ into him. That's how she knew him better than anyone else. Even John.

He could feel Molly's breath on him. "Say it like you mean it, then."

 _Phone her, do something, while there's still a chance because that chance doesn't last forever. Trust me Sherlock, it's gone before you know it. Before you know it._

Sherlock Holmes wasn't known for romantic entanglement. And yet, to a point, neither was Molly Hooper.

Pushing away all rational thoughts that were screaming at him, he brought his lips gently to hers, the fire that had been sealed away and extinguished so many times by his mind suddenly blazing into his entire mind palace. Not one room, not one hallway was not on fire with _her_.

After the surprise wore off a bit, she took his neck in her hands and kissed him back. Gently, yet firmly. Sherlock's arms wrapped around her, his hands resting on her hips.

They only broke apart because of the need for oxygen. He rested his forehead against hers, not wanting to be away from her.

"Well," Molly started. "That was…"

"Yeah." He mumbled. That was the best thing he could say? Seriously?

"You mean it?" She asked quietly, her brown eyes looking fearfully into his piercing blue ones. She was afraid. Afraid he was going to take it back. Afraid that he was just playing around with her. "I'm...I'm not going to be another Janine, Sherlock - "

"Never." He cut her off. "You are not Janine. This...this is not a game or an experiment or a case."

"So...you kissed me because you actually wanted to?"

He looked down at her, his hands tightening on her. "I suppose so. A good friend once told me that romantic entanglement would complete me as a human being - "

"John."

Sherlock grinned. "And I have come to the conclusion that he is partially correct. Not any romantic entanglement would do. It would have to be...with the right human being. The one who's always counted the most to me."

"Me?"

He looked into her eyes and placed a finger under her chin again. "You've always counted."

She was silent for a moment. "This isn't going to be easy, Sherlock. I examine dead bodies for a living and you...you work cases for the government sometimes for cripes sake and - "

Sherlock silenced her with another kiss, this one deeper than the first. She closed her eyes and leaned into him, her heart pounding a mile a minute.

"I know. And it'll be dangerous. _Extremely_ dangerous." He closed his eyes for a millisecond only to immediately open them after seeing flashes of her dead body lying in the street, a gunshot to her chest, with Moriarty holding the smoking gun.

"I don't care. It's not like I haven't been in danger before when I'm working cases with you."

Sherlock grimaced. "This is different. You are more than a friend or accomplice now."

Instead of frowning or arguing like he thought she was going to, Molly gave him a small smile.

"More than a friend, huh?"

Sherlock's cheeks blazed. "I...yes."

She stood on her tip toes, only reaching the bottom of Sherlock's face with their height differences. Placing a small kiss on his nose, she leaned into him. He let his eyes fall shut then, the image of her dead body replaced with an image of just _her_.

"Do it correctly, then."

Sherlock scoffed as she giggled. "Seriously?"

"Yep. I wanna hear it."

Sherlock took a breath. "Fine. Molly Hooper. Would you...do me the pleasure of becoming my partner? Romantically, that is?"

She grinned at him. "As long as you don't fill my fridge with organs."

"No promises."

She laughed, her voice like beautiful bells to his ears.

"Well, I suppose we should clean all this up."

"We should," he agreed, not letting his grip on her hips loosen.

"You have to let me go for that to happen, Sherlock," she whispered, her lips millimeters from his. A different kind of fire raced through him, one that he thought he had extinguished well into his teenage years. It started in his brain and shot straight to his groin.

"What if I don't want to?"

She gave him a seductive smile, and - _God, she was beautiful_ \- brought her lips to his ear. She whispered something calmly and slowly and with each passing word Sherlock's face turned redder and his slacks became just a bit tighter.

"You better keep your promise, Hooper." Sherlock breathed as she pulled away.

"I always do, Holmes. I never broke my promise after you jumped off the building right? And you're not jumping off any buildings now."

She walked away then, her hips swaying as she bent down to pick up the discarded bottle rocket. Sherlock hissed and forced himself to look away. He gulped as he thought about the night's events and what was still yet to come with excitement and disbelief.

He took another look at her, his Molly, his pathologist.

"I might as well be."

 **I actually really enjoyed writing this one! I may begin just a collection of one-shots with Sherlock and Molly now...jeez I need to actually focus on school work. But we all know that's not going to happen. If you enjoyed this, please review! I love reading positive comments and constructive criticism! It's how I grow! And then I can also read your stories if you have written any! Thank you!**


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